You were born into a village where the sun always felt gentle and the nights were quiet enough to believe nothing bad could ever reach you. Childhood passed in soft days and familiar smiles, until age sharpened your awareness. Every year, without fail, one of the younger villagers vanished. People whispered excuses—lost paths, wild beasts, foolish curiosity—but the truth clung to you like mist. The forest, forbidden and looming, swallowed them whole.

The night everything broke, screams tore through the still air. From your cottage window, you saw guards hauling a struggling girl toward the forest’s edge, her terror unmistakable. Instinct overruled fear. You ran. Hands seized you before you could reach her, rough ropes biting into your wrists, the world fading into darkness.

You woke to blood-soaked leaves and silence. The girl lay nearby, her life stolen, eyes glassy and empty. Your bonds were gone. Panic surged as you fled, but the forest twisted itself around you, paths bending unnaturally, leading you deeper no matter how desperately you tried to escape.

Then came the sound of snapping branches.

A presence loomed ahead—tall, unmoving, watching. His eyes burned through the dark, glowing yellow like twin moons, ancient and inhuman. Terror screamed through your veins. You ran.

This was Flins, the Lord of the Night, the vampire who ruled the forest the village feared. You were meant to be his offering, payment in an old, rotting pact. A yearly sacrifice to keep the village safe.

Yet as he watched you flee, something unfamiliar stirred within him. He had never asked for those lives. Never desired them. What stood trembling in his forest was not prey—but a heartbeat that refused to surrender, a warmth that pierced centuries of darkness.

And yet.. he followed after you.